We were going to Stuart's performance, but we decided to dye Marci's hair as a prelude, and things went, um, well, slightly wrong.
I'm not sure "wrong" is the right word; depending on your tastes, it could be described as anything from "way cool" to "horrifyingly awful." Marci wanted to dye her hair platinum white, so we hit a local drugstore, realized that dark hair took at least two strong agents to dye white, brought both of them and gave it a try.
Her hair turned bright orange.
I am now dating Ronald McDonald.
We did not go see Stuart perform.
Ken Wilber
Diary entry
November 14, 1997
The circle is closed. No sense dodging now, we've all been shot. The mother also contracted the baby's eyes. What a way to kick off the semester, with all eyes red and swollen. Meanwhile, we're still crippled without household help. I asked E-, the least bourgeois in the faculty, if that's normal or if under the circumstances we ought try to work it out between the three of us. He said an attempt to wing it without help would be ideal but impractical. We were both working and the infant won't quit asking for 24 hours. He's right, I know, we can't risk the child on account of courage or foolhardiness. He's prudent. I'll kiss him on the eyes next week.
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